The Boy From District 9
by mockingjayfics
Summary: A oneshot about the boy from District 9. Written from his point of view during training and the games.


**Here is Melissa's First Fanfiction! I hope you all enjoy it.**

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><p>Fish out of water. At the training sessions, I stand awkwardly next to the entrance as I watch the other tributes perfect their deadly skills. A spear hurls through the air, only to be stopped clean in the center of a target made of hay. A large Career admires his work smugly, but I can see that his dark eyes flash around the room, gauging everyone's reaction. His gaze lands on me. He wants to assert his dominance, to show me his strength. He wants me to know that the spear stuck in the hay will soon be lodged in my throat, and he will watch with those same dark eyes as I take my last breath from his doing.<p>

I resist the urge to throw up right then and there and quickly walk to my right. I see the archery station and grab a quiver and bow. The instructor, a tall blonde woman, shows me how to aim and hit a target. After about an hour of practice, I can shoot the target pretty well. I pull the line taught and feel the strain in the bow, my arrow itching to be released. I let go and the arrow hits about three inches off the center. Not bad, coming from the tribute who spent his whole life milling grain. I feel someone watching me and turn. Katniss, the girl on fire, is silently watching me from the knot tying station. Sure she can tie a rope into a trap, but does that small girl even have the strength to shoot a bow? This thought gives me comfort and I move to the next station.

Today is the day, my last day. I wait under the stadium with my stylist, Bree. Bree is thin and white, with elegant golden tattoos swirling down her side. The shape reminds me of the grain that surrounded my home back in District Nine. My Papaw always said that as long as I had hands to toil and the heart to persevere, I would live a full and happy life. This advice seems quite irrelevant and foreign in my current situation. The Games are foreign, like a rotting corpse that people can't stop watching. Kids aren't supposed to have to face off like this, and all for what? To amuse the silly Capitol inhabitants? No, that can't be. Bree has shown herself to be a kind and sharp female, like my sister. She can't possibly enjoy this bloodbath, can she? If not, then who does?

"Remember what your coaches told you Korrel," Bree coos as she zips my suit. She squeezes my arm and looks like she is about to say something, but instead she loosens her grip and hurries out the door. I'm alone. I clear my head and step onto the platform. I rise.

A huge Cornucopia sits majestically, surrounded by supplies. I need to grab something, anything, and run to the woods. Only there can I find safety. My heart drops as I size up my opponents, all stone faced and deadly. They will all surely grab the supplies before me. I'm not a career, I'm not the strongest, I'm not very fast, I don't have a charming personality to win sponsors, and I certainly wasn't on fire like Katniss. Katniss! She breaks character and looks to her right at something for a split second just as the buzzer sounds. I take advantage of this slight error and lunge forward to grab anything I can. A pack! My feet thump the ground as I sprint with my arms outstretched. I see Katniss run towards the same object, but I grab the orange pack first. For some odd reason I look up at Katniss, almost to win her approval. I forget that we're enemies.

"Look!" I want to say, "I got the pack!" As I look her in the face for half a second, a sharp pain radiates into my upper back, below the neck. Quick, sharp bursts of white hot pain pulse through my spine and I realize that I can't move my legs. My eyes dart around as I realize that my arms don't work either. I fall with a thud onto the grass and I see Katniss look at me in shock, then grab the pack and run. As hot, sticky liquid runs down my shoulder I feel that I have been critically hit with something, a dagger maybe? I try to get up, but can't. My arms and legs don't respond to my furious attempts at getting up. With horror it dawns on me: I'm paralyzed. The other tributes fight in front of me, throwing spears and knives and punches. Some fall, some flee. My mind is blank. I can only lie on the grass while my own blood flows out of my useless body. Let the Games begin.

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><p><strong>Thanks for reading! Any reviews would be lovely.<strong>


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